


Lonely Rivers Sigh

by AeeDee



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble, Insecurity, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Secret Crush, Sentimental
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-23
Updated: 2014-04-23
Packaged: 2018-01-20 12:28:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1510442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AeeDee/pseuds/AeeDee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve tells a small lie whenever he's asked if he knows how to dance.</p><p>I know this concept's been explored before but I wanted to try it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lonely Rivers Sigh

The record scratches and it’s in the way you laugh when you walk over to fix it, swaying to the rhythm even as the melody is distorted and broken. Humming to fill in that broken noise as you drop the needle back down into place with a satisfied smile when the song resumes. Another sway and a roll of your hips and you’ve never been a great dancer but you sure know how to act like it doesn’t even matter.

“Come on, Steve,” and you snap your fingers, and that grin on your face gets wider, “Get with it.”

“Nah,” but it’s so difficult to be articulate around you when you’re like this – smooth and suave and relaxed from the alcohol and moving towards me, infectious and warm and it hurts to even look at you right now - “You know I don’t dance.”

“Like hell,” with a friendly jab, your hand brushing against my shoulder and I’m not shaken, not shaken; “I’ve seen you make a good effort.”

“Yeah,” rolling my eyes and it helps to keep my mind off of you, off the tilt of your hips and the precise steps your feet take as you stroll in a loose circle, “Exactly. An effort.”

“A good one,” and you’re so smug, you think you’re so clever. You extend a hand towards me and I’m not even sure what to do. Because when you act like this the world starts spinning a little and it’s so tough to know anything of your intentions. 

You’re not opposed to holding my hand, because it’s all in good fun, Steve, why are you bothering to think about it so much, relax just a bit, it doesn’t have to be funny between us. Doesn’t have to be uncomfortable, doesn’t have to be anything more than what it is.

I never learned how to dance proper, but when you take my hand I almost feel like I’ve known all along. You hold both of my hands to make sure I don’t goof up too badly, a friendly laugh when I step on you a few times and the song is warm and infectious and you’re humming, still humming in the quiet moments, when the melody slows. 

I hear your voice humming, even now, I remember every note, because when you start humming like that I’d always feel a bit more alive.

Feels like we’re getting closer together as we circle around the room, and I don’t know what to think because I’m so clumsy and slow and I know you’ve got to try so hard to not leave me behind. I keep my eyes on the wrinkles of your shirt, especially the ones at your shoulders because your face is so distracting and your smile is bothering me in some way.

I don’t need to look down to know what our feet are doing; I’m taking all the wrong steps and you’ve got the right ones.

“Alright, Steve,” and you’ve got the kind of laugh that makes a guy feel uneasy about himself, even when you’re making fun; “I’m gonna have some pity.”

“Yeah, it’s like I told you,” and I feel myself grinning but it’s not something I decided to do. “It’s a lost cause, Bucky.”

“Nah,” and it’s a faint drawl as the record lapses into the next song, something a bit more sultry and low. Your left hand still holds mine tightly but the other presses against my back, reassuring and warm and something in me starts to burn, “Just need a bit more guidance, is all.”

“Come on, Buck-”

“What’s the matter, Steve,” I make the mistake of looking up at your face and it’s everything I feared it would be; you’re confident and you’re cool and everything I’m not, “Afraid of learning something new.”

“Not a skill I’ll have much use for,” forcing my eyes back down to your chest because somehow it’s less intimidating than your eyes.

An audible smirk and that’s all you’ve got for me, and you’re humming again. Humming with enthusiasm because this song’s one of your favorites, and that hand on my back is pressing tighter and we’re definitely moving closer and I’m not sure I’m okay with this anymore.

But it’s so hard to say anything when you’re like this, because I don’t ever want to disappoint you. Don’t want to disappoint myself, either. But at least I’m used to that.

You’re pulling me closer and I’d like to believe it’s the alcohol still taking its toll but I’m not sure.

Faint static from the record player and your arm’s around me and if there was anything I could say right now, I’m sure I’d ruin the moment. Coordinated movements and you’ve got more grace than I’ll ever have, and the warmth from your chest is making me wonder if I’ll ever feel as calm about this as you do.

If I’ll ever wear such a calm smile, and if my eyes will ever soften the way yours do when you grin down at me, if I’ll ever speak in such a smooth tone, if I’ll ever have the composure to hold you up when you stumble forward, if I’ll ever be able to laugh and shrug it off without feeling wounded, without feeling like I’m hurting something within me I can’t find.

The room’s so uncomfortably warm and I’m burning, still burning and you’re chuckling because I just stepped on your foot again.

“Not so bad, Steve,” you tell me.

Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself.

Sometimes I hear that humming, your low humming in the back of my mind. And I think of that dance, because it wasn’t the first one, wasn’t the only moment like it. Wasn’t the only time I felt smaller than usual beside you, wasn’t the only time I was eclipsed by your greatness, overshadowed by your glow. Wasn’t the first time you’d held me so close to you, but it would be the last.

It’s a funny thing.

I remember the way it all felt but I’ve got no memory of the moves. I can recite the exact words you said, every line of ‘em – the brush of air against my forehead when you quietly said, “See, not so bad” – and every single time you laughed and the way you gave my waist a final squeeze before you let me go, before we separated and I felt so much more unsteady on my feet than I had in a long time.

I never did learn how to dance. I only ever could when I was following your lead.


End file.
